


From Dusk till Dawn

by ArwenLightwood



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Monster of the Week, Panic Attacks, Slow Build, Summer, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLightwood/pseuds/ArwenLightwood
Summary: It's the summer before college, the last adventure before becoming adults and leaving Beacon Hills.Stiles was excited about the trip, and even more when Derek decided to join them just in case. A just in case that ends up turning into mermaids that are not Ariel.





	1. Detective Stilinski

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is my first fic ever, so I have no idea how it will go... It is also my first time writing in English (yep, I'm not a native), so sorry for my many mistakes! I hope you enjoy it despite them!
> 
> The title is from Sia's song, because I keep thinking about Sterek when I listen to it. Don't know why.
> 
> Also, I don't know how long the fic will be... 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and ideas are very much appreciated!

“Mermaids are not a thing, are they?” Scott asks, not entirely convinced.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it is something you should know,” Stiles doesn’t bother looking up from his phone. He already knows the look Derek is giving him, “It would be helpful having an Alpha who is actually familiar with this kind of crap that keeps coming all the way to Beacon Hills to bite our asses. Although this time we’re actually the ones entering their territory. How cool is that? We’re the bad guys for once. Does that mean that this time we might die? Like, for good, not just like Peter, who comes resurrecting like a zombie every damn time we look away.”

“Could you stop talking for five minutes?” asks Erica with a sigh, “We’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours, and I swear to God that if I hear your voice babbling again I’ll rip your throat out.”

Stiles locks his phone, satisfied with his new Candy Crush record.

“You know you love my sweet babbling. If it weren’t for me, you’d be…”

“Much happier?” suggests Isaac.

Erica snorts, and even Scott has trouble hiding a smile.

“You and I are bros, you can’t laugh at me! You should be protecting my honor.”

“I thought I was supposed to protect my mate’s honor, not your bony ass.”

Stiles’s lips part in disbelieve.

“Such a betrayal... You are perfectly aware of my awesome ass. In fact, you better than anyone know how much awesomeness my bottom holds.”

Isaac tilts his head. It’s almost imperceptible, but Stiles catches the way in which his knee bumps against Scott’s. Such touches have been going on for a while now, despite the boys’ obliviousness and Stiles’s amusement. He should start a bet. Surely Erica would like to take part in it, and even Boyd may be interested. He isn’t so sure about Allison, though.

“Can we focus and stop talking about Stiles’s ass, please?” begs Boyd, his hands resting on Erica’s shoulders.

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea coming” Derek sounds tired, but a quick glance lets Stiles know that it is because of their childish behavior and nothing else.

“You couldn’t expect us to stay in Beacon Hills the last summer before college,” says matter-of-factly Lydia, “Plus, don’t packs go on holidays?”

“They do. We do” Derek confirms, his arms crossed before his chest. Such tension must leave him stiff. Or at least that’s what Stiles has always thought, “We visit other packs’ territory after asking for permission. Usually those with whom we have alliances or ties.”

“That’s why we chose this place” Allison explains, “My dad said that it wasn’t occupied.”

“By werewolves. There are other creatures that can be quite territorial.”

“But you decided to keep that information for yourself. Nice. Now we are trapped in a cabin with a handful of Ariels waiting for us to get out and what? Eat us? What do they do? Like, exactly. I want details, because if they’re here to take our forks and use them as combs, I’m totally okay with giving them all our cutlery” Stiles turns to Derek, eyebrows arched.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if they’re mermaids.”

“Man, they sing awfully. And they dragged themselves out of the sea. Disney can’t be wrong.”

“Stiles is right,” this time is Jackson who speaks, which is nothing but a surprise, “Don’t look at me like that. I watched as many Disney movies as you when I was a kid, guys.”

“Really? Weren’t you too busy becoming a douchebag?”

Jackson bares his teeth at Stile in response.

“Don’t make me regret tolerating your existence, Stilinski” growls.

Lydia takes his hand in hers. “Could you leave your rants for later? We have a situation here,” is all she says.

“And I was first in wanting to kill Stiles,” Erica points out.

“Okay, okay, got it. You can all decide who gets to kill me first in a while.”

Scott gets up and starts pacing, moving between the couches. His dark eyes remain fixed on the floor, avoiding everybody’s gazes.

“We need info,” he finally says.

“Wow, you’re such a genius,” Stiles mocks him.

“I could call Deaton, and…” he turns to Allison, suddenly unsure. Their friendship is still under construction, and not even a trip to the resort has helped them to fix what their painful break-up destroyed.

“I don’t have the Bestiary with me. I didn’t think we’d need it here,” she explains, reading his mind. “I could call my dad and…”

“No.” His Alpha voice may not be as effective with humans as it is with werewolves, but Stiles can feel it his bones. It’s almost as if he could feel the hatred that the Argents awake in Derek’s heart.

“But I have my computer,” Stiles interrupts, stretching his skinny arms above his head, trying to get rid of the sensation.

“That’s good,” Derek concedes. “Start working. I’ll make some calls. Boyd, Isaac, you two check every door and window. I don’t want them breaking in any time soon. Understood?” both boys nod before leaving. “Allison, Lydia, check our supplies. I want to know how long we can stay here. Scott, inform Deaton and let me know as soon as possible. Jackson, Erica, don’t kill Stiles until he’s done with his research. And you’re in charge of watching the mermaids. See what they’re doing out there.”

“How the hell are we going to do so?” Erica asks.

“Either you find a good spot to watch them from here or you go out there. Do you need me to babysit you?” snaps Derek.

Stiles snorts, hiding his smile under his oversized hoodie. Not even the deadly look Derek gives him makes his grin disappear.

When Derek goes upstairs, everybody starts moving. Lydia and Allison move to the kitchen, Scott takes his phone and dials Deaton’s number before locking himself in the bedroom he and Stiles share. Erica and Jackson simply follow Derek to the second floor, probably looking for an access to the attic.

“Detective Stilinski is on duty, yep,” Stiles mutters to himself before standing up. “Ready to save the day.”

He retrieves his laptop from the dining table and sits where Jackson was, in the couch near a window that is now covered by a pair of heavy curtains and a blind.

He had been expecting some kind of supernatural phenomenon to occur. Not exactly mermaids, that’s true, but something. He was not so delusional as to hope for some relaxing weeks, not when he was still hanging around freaking werewolves. And to be honest, he’d have been disappointed if nothing had happened. It felt as if this was his last opportunity to live another adventure before saying farewell to his friends and moving away. He knew for sure that no supernatural creatures were waiting for him at Berkeley. And if there were… well, they were not Scott. Or Derek.

“Ok, not the right time to start moping. Get to work, Stilinski,” he says to himself.

“You know we can all hear you, right?” Isaac shouts from somewhere to his left.

“Yeah? Well, fuck you and your werewolf superpowers!”

Derek comes downstairs when everybody starts laughing, a phone in his right hand. “Will you start working or should I start yelling?” he hisses, no need to rise his voice for his betas to hear him. “You too, Detective Stilinski.”

He doesn’t smile (when has Derek Hale smiled?), but Stiles does. Just as he did when Derek decided to join them in their trip.


	2. Chip and Chop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Research is useless, so Stiles feels useless, although he's come with a pretty cool nickname for Derek's eyebrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've uploaded twice today, but I feel like I should really give you guys something more... and I can't stop writing.
> 
> Thank you soooo much for reading and tolerating my mistakes!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

It was something that he had planned with Scott when they were freshmen. They’d expected having a few more friends by the end of their senior year, but they hadn’t planned to end up going on a trip with Lydia fucking Martin and her boyfriend, the always pain in the ass Jackson Whittemore. Stiles could have lived without spending his last summer as a non-university student with Jackson, but he knew they were both part of the same pack. There was no way of fighting that.

So in the end, Jackson had joined them. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac had always been invited, or at least they had been so since Scott had come to terms with Derek.

Allison’s presence was still a surprise, and Stiles hadn’t had the nerve to ask Scott about it. Now laying on the couch, surfing the Internet looking for any piece of information about mermaids, he is glad she is there, laughing from the kitchen where she’s supposed to be doing some inventory. At least Lydia is enjoying her company.

Nonetheless, Derek had been the greatest unexpected guest. When they’d talked to him about the trip, he had disapproved, which was not a surprise per se, as Derek seemed to hate fun things as much as he hated any color that wasn’t black. He had explained how dangerous it was leaving Beacon Hills unprotected, how reckless they were for risking trespassing other packs’ territory, for travelling as a pack without their Alpha. They have listened to their warnings for hours before he’d come to the realization that they were not going to cancel their plans, no matter what he said.

Finally, his Camaro had appeared parked before Scott’s house the morning they’d decided to set off. Upon arriving to the cabin, he’d claimed the master bedroom and locked himself in there, leaving Scott, and Stiles himself with the second biggest room, and Isaac with the couch after having given up his bedroom to Allison. Such a gentleman. Boyd and Erica had occupied the guest bedroom, while Lydia and Jackson had built their own refuge in the dark and smelly basement.

“Found anything interesting?”

Stiles nods, patting the seat to his right as an invitation to Scott to look at the screen of his laptop.

“Yep. Did you know that mermaids and sirens are not the same? Also, mermen aren’t interested in humans at all, and are quite larger and wilder. Maybe we should check if Derek has the tail of a fish under those jeans.”

Scott laughs.

“I’m not going to be the one messing with Derek’s pants,” he decides when he manages to control his laugh.

A low growl traverses the cabin. Scott stops smiling at once.

“Guess your Alpha doesn’t like you talking about what might or might not be under his pants,” whispers Stiles.

Scotts punches him in the biceps, an amused expression still all over his face.

“Come on. What else have you learnt?”

“Well, not much. I mean, it is difficult to know if I’m reading fictional crap or actual information. What bothers me the most is that what we’ve seen out there does not match any of the definitions I’ve found. Mermaids, as well as sirens, are supposed to lure humans to their homes in the deep sea or to their destruction. Handsome young men, to be precise. But those have come from the beach to our front door.”

“But they did look like mermaids,” points out Scott. “Or at least, I’ve always imagined them like that.”

“Yeah, I know. But they also reminded me of Medusa. The hair…” Stiles moves his hands around his own head, trying to copy the strange fluid movements of the mermaids’ locks. “It was like they still were underwater.”

Scott frowns, deep in thought.

“Deaton asked me about that,” he admits after a couple of minutes. “He told me he’d get back to me as soon as possible.”

“Let me guess… He had to check something first. Boy, that man loves being mysterious.”

Scott shrugs.

“I’m gonna see if Isaac needs help.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, go see your man,” Stiles pats him on the shoulder. “Good boy.”

“You’re a weirdo,” Scott states, standing up.

“You mean that I’m a gift from the Gods? Because fuck yeah, that’s totally what I am.”

Scott rolls his eyes, but decides to leave without discussion.

Stiles turns back to his research. His useless research. It’s been a while since the last time he couldn’t find anything useful for the pack. It feels weird letting them down. What is he going to say to Derek? Maybe he could suggest watching The Little Mermaid tonight. It’d be hilarious if it weren’t for the creatures who are waiting outside for God knows what reasons.

“Stop fidgeting. You’re driving me insane,” Derek barks, entering the living room.

Stiles freezes. He hadn’t realized that he’d been moving around.

“Then stop spying on me. It’s creepy, dude.”

Derek frowns at him before sitting on the other couch. His eyebrows move as if they were alive. Stiles’s started calling them Chip and Chop. Chip seems to be more agile, so it’s become his favorite.

“You’ve got nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say that I’ve got nothing. You see, that’s a pretty negative perspective, and we are all here for the support of the pack and to have a good time. And… may I add that I’ve got plenty of things? Like my charisma and an awesome butt, which has been previously discussed, and…”

“Can you stop talking about your ass?” Derek interrupts him, clearly frustrated.

“Yep. No problem. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy. Not talking about asses. Or wait, is it just about my ass? Can we talk about yours? Because Scott is quite interested…”

“Stiles,” Derek growls.

“Okay, got it. Mermaids. Let’s talk about mermaids. That’s all you want from my mouth, and that’s what I’ll give you, because I’m an incredible giver. Your satisfaction is my happiness,” Stiles stops himself before Derek does, completely aware of the poor choice of words. Having no filter sucks. “Why do you let me talk?”

“I’ve been trying to stop you since we met, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Right,” he agrees, his eyes focused on the screen. “I may need more time to find something.”

“Okay.”

“We have enough for a couple of days,” Lydia announces, entering the room. “Although, you’ll have to stop eating like pigs.”

“Tell that to your boyfriend. He stole all my cereals this morning,” despite his intentions, Stiles’s comment makes him sound like a kid complaining.

“Don’t worry about supplies. They’re gone,” Erica comes down the stairs running, a bright smile on her face.

Derek stands up, tense.

“What? Where have they gone?”

“Back to the sea. Jackson is keeping an eye on them, but when I left there were only three that hadn’t disappeared in the waters.”

Stiles closes his laptop, satisfied.

“Then that’s settled. We have nothing to worry about.”

Allison bites her lower lip.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Why?” Derek questions her.

“My dad has been instructing me as a hunter…” Derek recoils, but Lydia stops him from interrupting with a murderous look. “And if there’s anything that I’ve learnt and that can be applied to every supernatural creature is that once they’ve gone chasing someone, they’re not going to back off just because. My guess is that if they’ve left is because they couldn’t stay, but they’ll be back.”

“Then all we have to do is leave,” Derek decides, still keeping some distance with Allison.

“No way, dude!” Stiles complains. “We’ve paid for three weeks!”

“You wanna stay and hang out with them?” Derek asks him. “I bet they’ll be delighted.”

“You’re a moron. And a party pooper,” mumbles Stiles under his breath.

For a brief second the shadow of a smile appears across Derek’s face, but it is gone before anyone but Stiles can notice it.

“Start packing. We leave in half an hour.”


	3. Scott is an abandoned puppy, Derek is a werewolf, and Isaac is a radio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is! Another chapter ready for you!  
> I'm almost done with chapter 4, so you'll have it as soon as possible.  
> Hope you enjoy it!

The storm starts when they are arriving to Beacon Hills.

Stiles checks the rear-view mirror to see that Allison is still fast asleep, while Isaac is looking through the window, his blue eyes reflecting the dark clouds that have covered the sky.

“This doesn’t look good,” comments Scott.

“Oh, poor boy. You don’t like storms, do you? I’ve heard thunders scare dogs to dead,” Stiles teases him, despite his own worries.

“Mermaids bring storms with them,” is all Isaac says.

“The boy can talk. What a wonderful news.”

“Let him be,” Scott orders him. “We’re not sure if they were mermaids or not. And storms are quite natural.”

“I checked the weather yesterday. No storms were expected in Beacon Hills for the next week,” explains Isaac, turning his head away from the window.

The Camaro is right in front of the Jeep. The heavy rain has turned its shape into a black silhouette that Stiles can barely see.

“Fuck…” Stiles reduces the speed, uncomfortable with the driving conditions.

Almost immediately, Scott’s phone rings, waking Allison up.

“Hey, man,” Scott answers. “Give me a sec, gonna put you on speaker.”

“We can’t see you behind us,” Boyd informs them.

“I can’t keep up with you, guys. I feel like Roscoe is going to drive us into a certain dead. And that’d be a lame way of dying after all we’ve been through.”

“Get to my house,” Derek orders.

“Yeah, man, because what would be better than driving into the woods when I can barely keep Roscoe on the road?” Stiles mocks him. “Go to my house. My dad is away for the weekend.”

“I’ll let Lydia know where we’re going”, decides Allison, already typing on her phone. “I can’t see Jackson’s Porsche behind us.”

“Fine,” Derek says.

 

* * * 

 

Fifteen minutes later Stiles finds his own living room cramped with the pack. It will never stop being weird seeing Jackson sitting on his father’s armchair.

The storm is worse now, making the entire house creak.

“This sucks. Worst summer ever,” Stiles sits on the floor near the couch, his right arm brushing against Derek’s left leg. “We don’t even have nice weather.”

“The plan was to spend some time together before leaving,” points out Allison. “We can still do it.”

“How? We have my place for like two days. After that, I’m not sure my dad will be okay with sharing his house with all of us.”

“If that’s so important for you, you can stay with me,” mumbles Derek, as if saying something nice pains him.

Stiles looks at him, surprised.

“You mean we can go to your old house? The one you’ve been renovating in secret?” Isaac asks.

“Do I have any other house?”

“Woah, that’s generous of you. Thanks, man,” Scott says.

“Whatever.”

Stiles laughs, trying to keep it to himself. No matter how nice Derek might be, he will always try to cover it up with his natural grumpiness.

“We’re staying here for the night, though, right?” Boyd asks.

“Yep. Let’s see how we can arrange that.”

Stiles stars working immediately, looking for blankets and extra pillows. Lydia and Jackson take his dad’s bedroom, promising not to blaspheme it with inappropriate activities. Boyd and Erica end up in the basement, while Isaac makes himself at home in the living room.

“You can sleep with me, dude,” Stiles decides when he sees Scott standing in the kitchen like an abandoned puppy.

“You move too much. And talk. And cuddle,” he complains.

“Would you rather have the floor?”

“I have the floor,” Derek announces, throwing his pillow in the space left between Isaac’s couch and the coffee table.

“There’s plenty of floor available if Scott decides to be an asshole and keeps complaining about my sleeping habits,” Stiles intervenes.

Allison laughs and sits on the armchair, a blanket wrapped around her body.

“You should have the couch,” Isaac says, standing up.

“You’re bigger than me, Isaac. I can sleep perfectly here.”

Scott looks at them in silence.

“You sure?” insists Isaac.

Allison smiles and nods, leaning against her pillow.

“Ok. Goodnight, puppies. Behave yourselves,” Stiles grabs Scott’s arm and pulls him upstairs.

Once locked in his room, he turns to his friend, who is still standing awkwardly against the door. When he looks like this it’s easy to forget all about his fangs and the claws.

“You okay, mate?”

“I don’t know,” he admits in a whisper.

“Is it Allison?” even though he knows it’s not her, Stiles asks anyway. It is better if you let Scott go at his own speed.

“No.”

Stiles sits on his bed. There’s probably a bunch of werewolves listening to their conversation right now, but that’s okay. Stiles has learnt to live with this lack of privacy, and so has Scott.

“Anything you wanna tell me about?”

“Not right now,” says Scott, noticing the presence of the rest of the pack. “Some other time?”

“Sure. Even though you have offended me with your remarks, I’m still your best friend.”

Scott’s smile reappears, big and bright.

“I’ll let you cuddle if that makes you feel better.”

“Man, you know how to satisfy me.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles can’t sleep.

The storm has eased off, but the rains persists. He can hear it running down the roof, hitting the windows. It’s a mystery how werewolves get some sleep when there is so much noise. Aren’t they supposed to be more sensitive? Well, given Scott’s snoring, no, not at all.

Stiles throws away his blanket and leaves the room as silently as it is humanly possible. When he gets to the kitchen, he is so busy rubbing his eyes that he collides against an unexpected and warm wall that shouldn’t be there.

“WHAmmmph…” a hand, a huge hand covers his mouth before he manages to wake up the whole house.

“Shhhh… What are you doing?” Derek asks.

Stiles grabs his hand and pushes it away from his mouth, although he doesn't let it go.

“What are YOU doing, creeper? Trying to give me a heart attack?” he whispers.

“Your heart seems to be doing okay,” responds Derek.

Stiles can’t help but notice that Chip is slightly higher than Chop, which means that he is in a good mood. Yep. That’s how much Stiles has come to know Derek and his limited facial expressions.

“Now you are stalking my heartbeat? Still a creeper, dude. Buy me dinner first and talk about my bodily functions after,” it may not be a brilliant comeback, but it is late and he is still recovering from the fright.

Derek frees his hand and takes a step back. The warm is suddenly gone and Stiles notices how the house is freezing. What an amazing summer.

“I was grabbing a glass of water,” explains Derek.

“Nice. I was about to do the same. I can’t sleep with this damn rain. I feel like a mermaid is hiding under my bed, waiting for me to fall asleep and grab mi ankle,” Stiles mutters, moving toward the fridge. “I have Cokes if you want.”

Derek hesitates before nodding.

Stiles takes two and sits down, expecting Derek to take the chair that’s left next to him.

“Isaac thinks it’s the mermaids’ fault.”

“Yeah. I read something about them invoking storms, but I don’t know, dude. Are they really mermaids? We’ve seen them once.”

Derek takes his can and opens it. He seems to be so focused on his task, that Stiles uses the moment to stare at him. Under the dim light that the streetlights cast through the windows, Derek seems different, younger, maybe a bit less frightening.

“My family never went to the coast. I have no idea about the region.”

Stiles can count with the fingers of one hand the number of times Derek has spoken about his family, and none of them have been a private conversation between the two of them. It feels weird sharing such a moment in the darkness of his kitchen, where he usually has breakfast with his father.

“Hopefully Deaton will have something useful. And now that we’re back, Allison can go home and check the Bestiary,” Stiles opts to say.

“That’ll be good. She being away,” Stiles frowns, which forces Derek to explain himself. “Scott won’t stop misinterpreting Isaac’s behavior while she is around. And Isaac won’t stop being a gentleman if she’s here.”

Stiles’s mouth falls open.

“You’ve noticed!”

Derek smiles, subtly.

“Isaac is my beta. I turned him. And even if I hadn’t, it would have been difficult to ignore his reactions when Scott is around. Isaac is extremely sensitive. He radiates his emotions like a radio.”

“But Scott hasn’t noticed yet.”

Derek takes a sip before answering.

“He’s noticing it now. That’s probably what he wanted to tell you before.”

“You’re all incredibly nosy. If you weren’t eavesdropping, he’d have told me.”

Derek snorts.

“You’re calling me nosy. You.”

“Well, yeah. I am supposed to be nosy. That’s one of my most notable characteristics. But you are different. You don’t pay attention to our dramas. You enjoy pretending to be above them.”

“Sometimes I get bored,” that’s all his explanation, and for some reason it makes Stiles laugh. “What?”

“Dude, you just sounded so… human.”

“I’m a werewolf, Stiles.”

“No shit, really? You should have told me before.”

Derek rolls his eyes and gets up.

“Get some sleep.”

“You are a ray of sunshine.”

“Sleep, Stiles,” barks Derek from the other room.

Stiles, like the obedient boy he is, stands up and goes upstairs, leaving his unopened Coke behind. Midnight conversations with a grumpy werewolf are perfect lullaby substitutes.


	4. Nighty Night, Sourwolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinnamon rolls are life.

The sun doesn’t shine the next morning, which gives Stiles a wonderful excuse not to rise. He knows everybody else is awake, moving around the house as if it were their own home, opening drawers and making breakfast, taking showers and laughing. Even Scott is gone, leaving behind him a warm spot in his incredible comfortable bed.

Stiles hides under the blankets, hoping for everyone to forget that he exists.

When people start leaving, a feeling of success takes over his body. It should be sad, he’s well aware of that, but for once it is in his own interests to be ignored by his friends. He can make Scott feel guilty later.

However, when the blankets are suddenly gone from his body and his eyes are exposed to the light of his bedroom, Stiles hears himself moaning, trying to grab the comforters.

“Up,” Derek says.

“Don’t want to.”

Giving up on the blankets, Stiles grabs his pillow and presses it against his head.

“Stiles.”

Despite his grave tone, Stiles doesn’t move.

“Nighty night, sourwolf,” a hand encloses his ankles and drags him to the floor. In a desperate attempt to stay in bed, Stiles takes with him his pillow and part of the sheets that were covering the mattress. “Oh, fuck you. You’ll be a terrible father someday. I pity your future cubs.”

“I already have eight children, and considering that you are one of them, I should be the one pitied.”

Stiles shivers. There’s something very wrong with Derek regarding him as one of his children.

“No, no, no. You have five puppies, dude. Don’t count me in. Humans are not pets. And when we call you our Alpha is more like an honorary title, you know.”

“You are pack,” Derek argues, crossing his arms before his chest, stiff as a rock.

There’s no use discussing that. They are, even if it has a different meaning for them.

“Okay, whatever. Can I get dressed now? Or are you enjoying seeing me in my underwear?”

Derek’s eyes, those same eyes whose color is still to be determined by Detective Stilinski, take a quick look at his bare chest and skinny legs before returning to his face. Stiles knows he is blushing, but Derek shows no emotion. Not even Chip moves.

“We are leaving in five minutes.”

The door closes behind him before Stiles gets a chance to ask any questions.

Cursing werewolves, Stiles gets up and open his closet, looking for anything to wear. After a quick shower, he finds himself sitting next to Derek in his Camaro.

“So, where is everybody?” he asks when they hit the road.

“Allison’s gone home to take a look at the Bestiary. Isaac and Scott are meeting with Deaton. And I have no idea what Jackson and Lydia are up to, but I surely don’t want to know. Boyd and Erica are on their way to my place. They felt like going for a run first.”

Stiles nods.

“You didn’t want to join them? You could have bounded while sniffing some trees and chasing each other.”

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t stay in bed for forever.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed in bed forever, dude. I’d start starving in a couple of hours. Food is life. And speaking of food, you didn’t give me enough time to have breakfast. It’ll be your fault if I pass out before lunch. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and you just denied me my early intake of carbs.”

Derek is now tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for Stiles to stop talking.

“Open the glove compartment,” he finally says.

Happy to have something to do with his hands, Stiles obeys. A box full of cinnamon rolls is waiting for him in there.

“Oh, my God,” Stiles manages to say, his mouth already drooling. “I love you, dude.”

Derek snorts.

“Keep my car clean if you don’t want me to feed you to the mermaids.”

“You bought me cinnamon rolls, there’s no way you’re gonna look menacing now,” with one roll and a half already in his mouth, Stiles finds it quite difficult to talk without spitting sugar.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Sure thing, cinnamon roll.”

Half of the cinnamon rolls are gone by the time Derek parks before the Hale house. Stiles leaves the car with the box safely guarded against his chest.

“Man, it looks great.”

The house is completely different now. Somehow Derek has managed to get rid of the creepiness that surrounded the burnt building. Now there are curtains in every window, carpets covering the wooden floor, and even a functional kitchen.

“Isn’t it a bit big for you, though?”

“It is not for me,” Derek answers, hanging his leather jacket in the coat stand. “It’s for the pack.”

Stiles nods, still contemplating the place.

“Do I have my own room?”

“There’s a kennel with your name on it in the back yard,” Derek announces before leaving for the kitchen.

“Asshole.”

“Are you coming or what?”

Stiles rushes to the kitchen, not knowing what to expect. There, near the fridge, is an open door leading to what seems to be the basement.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, but yeah, I don’t trust you enough to walk into a basement with you when no one else knows where I am,” Stiles mumbles, taking a step back.

Derek sighs, his hand on the knob.

“My family’s book collection is downstairs. And I do trust you enough to let you borrow them and look for any useful information,” he explains. “If I wanted to kill you, I could do it here,” he adds, showing his white and shining teeth.

Stiles ignores the threat, too busy thinking about what he has just said before.

“Your family’s collection? You’re letting me near your family’s books?” he asks, completely astonished.

“You’re a good researcher,” he answers, as if that explains everything.

“Hell yeah, Detective Stilinski,” Stiles agrees.

When he passes next to him, ready to go downstairs and marvel at the Hale’s library, Derek is smiling.


	5. Mersouls and Greek Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Libraries are awesome, although not so much when your Alpha is bleeding to death.

The place is nothing like a basement. There are not windows, that’s true, but the lights are strategically placed so it feels as if they weren’t underground. The room is huge, big bookshelves building false corridors that combine between themselves to create a huge maze in which Stiles happily gets lost, the box of cinnamon rolls as his most loyal companion.

He can’t imagine how long it took for Derek to classify all these books. There are written in different languages, many of which he cannot even recognize. Small signs announce the subject they deal with, as if Derek had been expecting someone other than him to poke about. Maybe Stiles himself. The idea makes him cheerful.

After ten minutes of wandering, he stops before one of the shelves and takes the first book that catches his attention. It is old and heavy, but at least written in English.

“I’m gonna check on Erica and Boyd, they should be here by now. Will you be okay?” Derek mutters, standing at the end of the corridor.

“Yep, I promise I won’t get kidnapped or mysteriously die while you’re away,” Stiles says, sitting on the floor with the book open, laying against his knees.

“Let’s see if you can keep your word.”

Derek is gone a second later.

“Someone could think that you are threatening me, Hale!” Stiles screams, knowing that he can still hear him.

For the next two hours, no one comes to bother him. Stiles spends most of the time criticizing Derek’s way of classifying. Despite its apparent organization, the library is a complete mess, and it takes him an eternity to find the section he is looking for. When he finally does, he has to climb the shelves (something at which he is not really good, in fact) to reach the book that’s titled _Sea Creatures_. He needs to talk to Derek about the necessity of buying a ladder.

By the time someone comes back and Stiles hears the door that leads to the kitchen opening, he’s already found some interesting information.

“Hey, Derek, I think I know what we’re dealing with! Apparently they’re called mersouls,” he begins talking, waiting for Derek to find him in the maze. He can’t know for sure that it is Derek and not one of the betas, but he has a hunch. It _feels_ like Derek. “The good news is that they are not interested in supernatural creatures, so you and your puppies should be fine. The bad news is that, although they usually don’t pay attention to humans, they do hate those who mess around with supernatural beings. My guess is that they smelled the presence of yummy humans in your pack and decided to attack. For what I’ve read, I understand that they are some kind of real life Voldemort. Mersouls are all for pure-blood supernatural creatures and not touching fragile, dirty humans,” Stiles stops himself, frowning. “Are you really having trouble finding me? Because you usually sniff your way back to me in a matter of seconds, dude.”

There is no answer, but Stiles knows that he is not alone. And even though it could be anyone, including a fucking mersoul, because he hasn’t read anything about their abilities or whether or not they can travel long distances yet, he knows it has to be Derek.

Taking the book and the cinnamon rolls with him, Stiles stands up and walks back to the entrance. His heart is pounding, his hands slippery. How much he misses his baseball bat right now.

There is a trickle of water running down the stairs, blood stains covering the steps. Not a good sign, not at all.

Derek is resting against the door, keeping it shut with his own weight. His eyes are closed, a dark stain of blood disgracing the whiteness of his tight-fitting t-shirt.

“Fuck.”

Stiles drops his belongings and climbs the stairs before kneeling by his side. His hands hover all over his body, trying to find out what is wrong with him. There are no weapons sticking from his chest, but something must be keeping his werewolf healing powers from working, because the bleeding isn’t stopping and Derek looks worryingly pale.

“Gonna need your cooperation here, buddy,” he says, daring to lift Derek’s shirt just enough to see the wound. He’s definitely not gonna freak out because he is now touching Derek’s abs. Nope. No way. “This looks horrible, dude. Not your body, because let’s be honest, you’re built like a Greek god. We could probably grate some cheese with them, although I’m not sure of its salubriousness. Do you shower often?”

“Stiles…” Derek growls, making him jump.

“You’re awake! That’s so cool, dude. Okay, so tell me. What the hell should I do?”

“Remove the… the pieces…”

“Okay, okay, that I can do.”

Stiles takes off his plaid and uses it to clean the blood from Derek’s chest. The wound crosses his entire torso, a deep and irregular laceration that splits blood at an alarming rate. Derek growls when Stiles starts removing the metallic pieces that have engraved themselves in his flesh, red eyes flashing. However, he doesn’t stop, even though several “fucks” scape his mouth. He won’t let Derek intimidate him when he’s trying to save his life.

The process is sticky. His fingers keep missing the pieces, making Derek complain. But in the end, he manages to retrieve eight scraps and the wound starts healing before his eyes. Derek’s breath becomes more even.

Stiles lets himself fall beside Derek, their shoulders touching. The water has stopped coming through the door, but his jeans are already soaked.

“Where are Boyd and Erica?” he asks, when he's sure he won't be throwing up any time soon.

“Found them in the woods, running from the mermaids.”

“Mersouls,” Stiles corrects him.

“Mersouls,” Derek concedes. “They managed to grab Boyd, and when I stepped in they didn’t take it well.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense. You three are werewolves, mersouls don’t mind you.”

“I think their senses are quite limited. Once they got me, they kept me still for a while, trying to catch my scent. Then they let me go, and headed to the house. I supposed they were coming for you, so I ran. Erica and Boyd left to warn Scott and Isaac.”

Stiles scratches his head, uncomfortable.

They’ve brought these creatures to Beacon Hills. It’s all _their_ fault.

“How do they move?”

Derek’s eyes follow the trickle of water.

“Apparently, they can only reach places where there’s water. Yesterday’s rain has made it easy for them. Have you found anything?”

Stiles jumps to his feet and goes downstairs to recover the book. The cinnamon rolls will have to wait.

“I haven’t had time enough to read it all, but it seems like they will be targeting the humans in our pack,” he says, his eyes scanning the pages as fast as possible. “We should check on Lydia and Allison.”

“They’ll be fine as long as they’re not left alone,” Derek mumbles as he gets up. “How do we kill them?”

The simplicity of the question, the lightness with which they were talking about killing, sends shivers down his spine. A couple of years ago he would have had trouble killing a spider, now they were discussing how to get rid of fucking mersouls.

“I don’t know. But I bet they won’t like electricity.”

Derek takes his phone from the pocket of his jeans and starts typing.

“We’re going to Deaton’s clinic. The others will meet us there,” he announces.


	6. Of Bullying and Niceness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton is a mystery, and so is Lydia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and leaving comments!  
> I don't know when I'll post the next one (college is driving me nuts). Hopefully I'll have chapter 7 ready for the weekend.  
> Enjoy!

It’s raining again by the time the get to the Camaro, Derek still soaked in his own blood and water, Stiles chewing the last of his cinnamon rolls trying not to think about how his fingers were covered in that same blood ten minutes ago. He keeps looking through the window, waiting for a mersoul to emerge from the puddles that are forming on the road. Because, even though he should be terrified, the whole idea of having freaking mermaid-like creatures chasing them and bringing storms is awesome.

“How did you keep them from getting into the basement? Water was leaking everywhere,” he asks when they stop before a red light.

“They didn’t try to enter. They smelled something and left. I closed the door just in case.”

That _is_ suspicious.

“Why wouldn’t they come for me? I am the most human human in your pack!” he complains.

“Are you mad because they haven’t tried to kill you? Next time I’ll let them do their work, if you’re so eager to…”

“No, man, I’m okay,” Stiles interrupts him. It is not as if he were not thankful, he always is when it comes to Derek saving his life. It's part of how their relationship works: they get in trouble, they save each other, they never talk about it afterwards. “All I’m saying is that it doesn’t make much sense.”

Derek starts the car again.

“I know.”

Stiles manages to talk for the rest of the trip without noticing Derek’s silence. Even when they enter the clinic, he keeps explaining him how there’s still one Western country with no democracy at all, because they don’t elect their president, they still have a royal family with all kind of legislative powers, which is absolutely crazy.

“I warned you, Stilinski,” Erica snaps the moment they set foot in the hall. “I’m gonna have to rip your throat out.”

It looks like the mersouls’ attack hasn’t made her specially happy.

“I was having a very interesting and _private_ conversation with Derek, Erica. I wasn’t babbling,” replies Stiles, offended. “And you should teach your pups not to listen to other people’s conversations,” he adds, turning to face Derek.

Chip lifts itself, a clearly sign that Derek is in a good mood despite his bitter expression.

“And again, here you are lecturing me about being nosy,” he answers.

Scott laughs, forcing Stiles to look away from Derek, despite his own wishes.

“So, I’ve heard you brought some interesting creatures with you,” Deaton intervenes, clearing his throat to catch their attention.

Stiles sighs and turns to sit on one of the armrests of the chairs that decorate the room. Unexpectedly, Derek decides to sit right on the same chair, forcing them to brush their arms together. Stiles has learnt that being a werewolf means being touchy. Like, really, really touchy. Which goes against Derek’s very nature, or so Stiles thought. Now that they’ve become friends (or at least, that’s what he likes to say), he’s discovered how much Derek enjoys rubbing himself against other members of the pack, especially him, as his human condition makes him more vulnerable to scent shifting (which apparently means that if Stiles spends more than two days away from the pack, any scent of belonging simply disappears). It kinda sucks knowing that it’s all for the safety of the pack and not for personal reasons, but hey, at least he gets to be physical with Derek.

“Nasty mermaids,” Boyd hisses from the corner.

“Mersouls, in fact,” Stiles correct him.

Deaton nods.

“That’s what I thought. It’s been years since I met one. They’re almost extinct.”

“Lucky us! But wait, does that mean that they are some kind of protected species? Because we really need to kill them before they kill us,” Stiles says, panicking.

“Do you ever shut up?” Erica groans.

This time Derek growls before Stiles gets an opportunity to answer. His red eyes flashing put Erica in her place. Stiles smiles when she shrinks into herself.

“No, they are not protected,” Deaton continues. “What do you know about them so far?”

Stiles launches himself into a very complete explanation of everything he’s read, letting Boyd add what he’s learnt from fighting them.

“The Bestiary says nothing about sea creatures,” Allison says in the end, a bit ashamed of not being able to contribute to the debate. “But then again, my father has access to many more documents. I could…”

“That’s out of question,” Derek says, his Alpha voice startling everyone in the room.

Stiles gulps, forcing himself not to reach for Derek’s hand.

“Thank you, Allison. But we won’t be needing your family’s knowledge,” pursues Deaton with a cautious smile. “Mersouls are basically interested in humans that are part of packs, as Stiles has explained, but it’s more complex than that. Certain texts point out that they may show preference for some humans within a pack. Entering their territory with these particular humans is regarded as a sign of disrespect, which may force them to leave their habitat and follow the cause of such dishonor wherever it goes. Death is the only thing that puts an end to their hunt.”

“What do you mean by ‘particular humans’?” Scott asks, hoarsely.

“I’m not sure yet,” and here it is, Deaton and his reluctance to share his knowledge. “But I’ll find out soon enough, don’t worry. Stiles,” when Deaton calls him, Stiles jumps, slipping down from the chair and landing on the floor with a thud sound. “come with me. There’s a book I’d like to show you.”

Suddenly, everyone is staring at him. Well, at least he is not invisible anymore, not like this morning.

“Yeah, sure.”

Avoiding their gazes, Stiles follows him into one of the examination rooms. As he was expecting, there are no books there.

“I need to ask you some questions without your pack eavesdropping. Is that okay?”, although he is not sure if it is okay or not, Stiles nods, wondering how the vet is planning to outsmart the werewolves’ super hearing powers. “This room is soundproof, don’t worry,” Deaton hurriedly adds, reading his thoughts. “Has Erica or any of the other werewolves been harassing you for a long time?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘harassment’. That’s too much, dude,” he explains with a smirk. “We simply tease each other,” Deaton’s frown erases his smile. “What? You sayin’ it is bullying? Because Derek would never allow that shitty behavior, and we’re not kids anymore. I really like them, even Erica. She’s totally badass.”

“I’m not concerned about you being bullied,” so much for niceness. “It’s the betas’ behavior which has me… worrying.”

“You’ve noticed some changes in our pack dynamics? Cause if you have, it’s probably because of Scott and Isaac. They’re so into each other that they’re barely paying attention to anybody else. But it’s okay, we’re all very supportive.”

“That’d be explain Isaac’s attitude…” Deaton whispers to himself, clearly lost in thought.

“What are you talking about?” he finally snaps, all his patience gone. “Why did you bring me here? If you want to know anything about the pack, you should ask our Alpha. Not me.”

Deaton shakes his head no.

“Just wanted to confirm a theory. Thank you for your help, Stiles. I very much appreciate it.”

“Woah, seriously, dude? That’s all? You drag me to a soundproof room to ask me random questions and then you expect me to just leave? Cut the bullshit already, because if you don’t I…”

Someone is slamming open the door before Stiles finishes his empty threat, which comes in fact as a miracle, because he had no idea what he was going to say. Sometimes his mouth is faster than his brain, and by sometimes he means most of the time. Plus, if you consider how fucking fast his brain works, well, you understand why he is always getting in trouble.

Isaac comes stumbling into the room, Allison on his heels.

“Water is coming through the door,” she explains.

“Whatever happens, you four stay here. Okay?” Isaac adds when Lydia enters the room. His voice makes clear that there is no point in arguing that.

Once he’s sure everybody is on the same page, Isaac proceeds to block the entrance with his own body, letting his hands turn into claws.

Stiles searches the room, looking for _anything_ that could be used as a weapon. There’re syringes, cotton, and paper towels, but apart from that, nothing. Not even a scalpel. What kind of vet doesn’t have a damn scalpel? It’s like Deaton is not even trying to keep his cover up.

“Where the hell are they?” Boyd asks from the hall.

For a couple of seconds the silence reigns. Stiles can hear his own agitated breathing accompanied by the out-of-control beating of his heart. Good thing he hasn’t inherited his father’s heart condition so far, because right now a stroke would be a bit inappropriate.

When Lydia stands by his side, he reaches for her hand without a second thought. It’s been a while since he started seeing her as a mere friend, giving up on an unrequited love that was keeping him from enjoying the hormone-party of his teenage body. But even so, from time to time it still shocks him the way in which they interact now, touching and sharing private jokes as if they’d had been friends since kindergarten.

Her fingers intertwine with his.

“If we die right before college, I’ll come back as a ghost just to make Derek’s life miserable,” she hisses.

Stiles squeezes her hand, looking at her.

“How is this his fault?”

“Now it’s not the time to get overprotective. I just need a scapegoat and our Alpha happens to be the perfect one, that’s it. I don’t hate your boy, you know that,” replies Lydia.

“What the…?”

“WATCH OUT!”

The roar forces Stiles to turn his attention back to the situation.

But it is too late.


	7. A Festival of Anxiety and Hormones

Isaac drives his claws right into the floor, splashing the running stream of water under his feet. Nonetheless, the shapeless form he was trying to stop keeps moving, zigzagging around the room until it comes to a stop before the humans.  Stiles steps before Lydia to hide her body behind his, just like Allison is doing with Deaton. If he thinks about it, it would probably be wiser to let Allison protect him too. Even without her crossbow, she’s fearsome.

Three pairs of bony hands emerge from the water, their fingers long and blueish. At the same time, a fourth figure appears near Isaac. Its hands reach for his ankles, what makes the boy growl furiously.

“Maybe we should keep them from getting out of their swimming pools, don’t you think?” Stiles asks, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Step on their fingers!” answers Lydia, pushing him, so he ends up face to face (or feet to fingers?) with one of the mersouls.

He lifts his right foot to hit them. His eyes close involuntarily, as if knowing beforehand that something is meant to go wrong. There is no way he’ll make it out of this without a scrap, not considering his history. Isaac’s growls, as well as the fighting noises coming from the hall, is all he hears when the hands grab him. Despite all his efforts and his 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones, the creature manages to throw him against the wall. His left shoulder takes most of the damage, but his head collides against the floor too, which clouds his vision and leaves him in a semi-conscious and completely vulnerable state.

For a moment, Stiles has problems figuring out whether his eyelids are drooped shut or not. After a couple of seconds that feels like hours, he manages to move enough to rest on his elbows, his blurry sight focused on the floor. Pain courses through his body when the damaged shoulder is forced to support his own weight.

Giving up on standing, Stiles lies back.

There is water everywhere now. He can feel it soaking his clothes, freezing him; drops flying every time one of the mersouls emerges from it to attack.

When his eyesight becomes clearer, Lydia is nowhere to be seen. Only Allison remains there, facing one of the creatures, a slim and graceful mersoul, whose skin is shiny and ethereal. Its hair is defying gravity, floating around its head. However impressive its looks are, Stiles can only see its eyes: big and pale, staring at Allison with malice. When its hands reach for her neck, Stiles finds himself screaming. Allison fights back, but the mersoul won’t let her go. It wraps itself around her, dragging her back to the water from where it came out. In a matter of seconds, they are both gone, and the clinic is disturbingly quiet.

Stiles gasps, trying to crawl to the point where Allison has just disappeared. However, the remaining water is just that, water, and his efforts are pointless.

“FUCK! FUCK, FUCK! ALLISON!” he yells.

A pair of strong hands helps him to get up.

“Where is she?!” asks Erica, blood all over her face.

“They took her.”

His voice is but a whisper, because that’s it. The mersouls took Allison right in front of him.

“How could they? She’s a hunter,” Erica pushes him away, making him stagger. “What did _you_ do? I bet she had to risk her life to save your lame ass, didn’t she?”

Derek jumps on her, all wolfed-out.

Both werewolves stay put. Erica is now all submissive before her Alpha, while Derek’s breathing is irregular, fury emanating from his body.

Stiles has honestly no idea what is going on.

“We have bigger problems that blaming each other for what just happened,” Scott intervenes. He is next to the door, unharmed. “If we don’t want the hunters to get involved, we better find Allison before Chris notices her absence.”

“What about Lydia? And Deaton?” asks Stiles.

“Deaton took Isaac to the other room. He’s badly injured, but he’ll be fine. Lydia is with Jackson and Boyd. They’re okay,” Scott’s voice is calm, although his eyes keep checking on Erica and Derek, who are still staring at each other.

“So, they came for Allison?” Stiles deduces. “She is the interesting human in our pack?”

Scott shrugs.

“Are you okay, mate?”

“I need a hot shower and painkillers,” he admits, his shoulder still in pain. “But Allison is our priority.”

“I wish I could drive you home, but Isaac and I came running,” Scott says.

“I’ll take him,” Derek decides.

Stiles is tempted to turn down the offer, even though it is not an offer, but more like an immovable decision. Derek is enraged, probably humiliated by the ambush. Chop is now in charge of his facial expressions, and Stiles is in no urge to spend time with him in such conditions.

“Don’t let Deaton keep any information from us. Whatever he knows, I want to know it too. Is that clear?” Derek carries on, fixing his eyes on Scott. “Meet me at my place in an hour.”

No one dares to contradict him, so Stiles ends up sitting in the Camaro once again, with the difference that now he doesn’t feel like talking at all. Instead, he is starting to feel nauseous. His hands are going numb. Before the cold takes over his body, Stiles takes the elastic bands he wears on his right wrist, ready to snap them against his skin.

_Everything will be alright… Everything will be alright…_

His mantra isn’t working, though. Breathing doesn’t come easy to him anymore.

“Stiles?” Derek calls him, noticing the change in his heart rate.

He tries to answer. He _wants_ to. But he’s incapable of saying anything. The snapping of the bands against his wrist are doing nothing. When he looks at it, he sees blood coming from the laceration that’s formed there, but it doesn’t hurt. And he knows it should.

Derek stops the car in the middle of nowhere.

“Look at me,” Stiles obeys him, still trapped in the obsessive snapping of the band. “And stop that.”

That he cannot do, so Derek reaches for his hands and makes him stop. His touch is soothing, warm. It provokes a shiver that runs through his entire body, from head to toes. All of sudden, he becomes aware of the closeness between them. Under any other circumstances, he’d be excited, but right now he feels overwhelmed. He doesn’t want Derek to see one of his biggest weakness, not after losing Allison before his eyes.

“No, no, no, no, no…” he mutters, avoiding Derek’s gaze.

But they’re in the Camaro, and there’s no way of dodging the Alpha there (and probably, not in all of Beacon Hills in general).

Derek takes Stiles’s chin with his left hand, leaving the other where it was, keeping him from snapping the band. When their eyes finally meet, Stiles stops breathing. It may be for a second or for an hour, he doesn’t know, because all he is aware of is Derek and those indescribable colors that make up his irises. He is no longer angry, or at least he doesn’t look like it. Instead, both Chip and Chop are positioned like they’ve never been before. Is _that_ concern?

“You’re fine, and so will be Allison,” Derek says, oblivious to the feelings he’s awakening. “I’m going to take you home, where you will shower and change your clothes. Then, we’ll fix this. All of us. And Erica will apologize to you.”

For some strange reason, that makes him laugh. He hasn’t given too much thought to Erica being a bully, but now everybody is talking about it, as if it were a big deal, as if Derek himself didn’t use to shove him against a wall a couple of times per week.

“Yeah, sure…” he whispers.

Derek lets go of him, unsure in his movements.

“Will you be alright?”

“I won’t panic again for the next… thirty minutes, don’t worry,” he fakes a smile for the shake of appeasing him.

Derek frowns. They both know he is not alright, but they also know that the anxiety won’t be back for a while, so Derek turns on the engine and starts driving again, changing lanes.

“Weren’t we going to my place? Or did you just lie to me so I wouldn’t freak out anymore?”

He’s still shaking from the attack, and the aches in his wrist and shoulder are intense. He _really_ needs that shower.

“Change of plans. You can shower at my place and borrow some of my clothes. We’re meeting the others there, anyway,” Derek answers, Chip and Chop still in an unknown position.

Stiles gulps, loudly. There’s probably a festival of anxiety and hormones in the Camaro, all within Derek’s very sensitive nose, which makes Stiles blush. However, the werewolf doesn’t say a word until the reach their destination.


	8. The Alpha's Predilections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on updating today, but Teen Wolf is officially over and I needed to say my farewells, so here it is... a new chapter.  
> Hope you like it

The water is running hot against his skin, rubbing away blood and sweat. It feels weird using Derek’s shower gel, even weirder than getting undressed in his bathroom, because now even Stiles knows how much he smells like pack, like _him_. This sudden lack of personal boundaries is doing nothing to help him get over his little obsession with Derek. But once again, in a couple of weeks he will be out of Beacon Hills, and werewolves will no longer be such an important part of his daily life.

Once out of the shower, Stiles takes the clothes Derek has given him: a pair of grey sweats that are too big for his skinny legs, and a black sweater that makes him look like a child. Leaving his sneakers behind, he opens the door to find an empty bedroom waiting for him. Derek’s room is just like him: sober, clean, all straight lines and dark colors. The big bed takes most of the space, pushed against the only wall with a window. The only other furniture are an almost empty desk, an armchair, and a closet. When he steps close to the desk, Stiles notices that the mug resting there is full of hot coffee. And it wasn’t there before, he’s sure of that. He grins and takes it, holding it between his hands and letting the warm spread through his body. After a sip, his smile turns into an incredulous face. The beverage is exactly how he usually drinks it: with low-fat milk and tons of sugar.

Stiles sits down on the corner of the bed.

The door to the corridor opens a few seconds later, and Derek stands there, looking at him.

“How is your shoulder?” he asks.

“The painkillers are doing their job,” Stiles answers. “I’m sorry for freaking out.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

Stiles nods, staring at his coffee.

“It sucks, you know? Being the weak human in your pack,” he admits after a while.

“Do you want the bite?”

The offer is sincere, almost affectionate.

“No, no. That’s not what I meant… I just… I’m okay with being human. I am awesome at that, but sometimes… I don’t know, man. Today I couldn’t do anything to save Allison. I was there, they took her in front of me, and all I did was… nothing. And then I had a fucking panic attack. If I had been one of you, I could have…”

“Done nothing,” Derek interrupts. “There already were six werewolves and we did nothing.”

“Yeah, maybe… But do you know what else is funny? Not even mersouls want me, even though I fulfil the only requirement to be taken by them. Although, I don’t blame them. If I were them, I would have taken Allison too. And Lydia, probably.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“What?”

“I would have taken you,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re the most valuable human in my pack,” Stiles’s jaw drops open, but Derek ignores his disbelief. “I don’t know why they have preferences, though we can probably know for sure that they do not take into account the Alpha’s predilections.”

“What do you mean by ‘predilections’?” he asks, trying to remain calm.

“Allison is a fighter, but so are the betas. She is not key for our survival. Lydia and you are smart, the brains of the pack. Without you two, we would be lost, but especially without you. You’re our researcher.”

It would be nice if Derek could stop being so rational. Just for once.

“Well, maybe they went after Allison for her beauty,” he jokes.

“Still not the choice I would have made,” Stiles’s heart skips a beat. “Isaac and Scott are almost here. Come to the living room whenever you’re ready.”

And just like that he is gone, and Stiles finds himself alone with a cup of coffee made by Derek Hale between his hands. The same Derek Hale who has just complimented his looks.

When did his life become so ridiculous? Is he dreaming? Did he take too many painkillers?

“Stiles?”

Scott’s voice forces him to stop overthinking and stand up, ready to meet his friend in the living room.

“Any news?” he asks as soon as he enters the room.

Lydia is already sit on one of the couches, reading the book Stiles found in the library a couple of hours ago. Her eyes move around the pages without a blink. Besides her, Jackson is waiting, his jaw tense despite the easiness of his shoulders.

“Not yet,” Scott answers, smiling. “You look better.”

“Showers work miracles, dude. Where’s Isaac?”

“Kitchen with Derek.”

Stiles lets himself fall on the armchair, careful not to spill his coffee.

“Has Deaton said anything about why they took Allison?”

Scott shakes his head.

“He didn’t want to. He said something about not being his business. But he did say that they wouldn’t be coming back for Lydia or you.”

“What the hell?”

“You should have let me punch him,” Jackson says.

“He was saving Isaac’s life. We needed him to like us, sweetie,” Lydia replies, still reading. “And we’ll probably need him again in the future.”

 “Whatever,” he mutters, flatly.

“And Boyd and Erica?” Stiles continues asking.

“On their way,” Scott answers. “They stayed to help Deaton clean up the mess.”

Stiles snorts. Erica probably didn’t want to be anywhere near Derek, and Boyd would not leave her alone, not after the fight.

Isaac emerges from the kitchen looking as if he hadn’t been about to die a couple of hours ago, Derek on his heels.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Lydia whispers. “I…” she looks up from the book to stare at Stiles. “Why didn’t they take you?”

Stiles arches his eyebrows.

“And why didn’t they take _you_?” he responds.

“Because of Jackson,” she says without a doubt.

“What did I do?” the boy asks.

“Lydia?” Derek calls her when she stars biting her low lip. “What is it?”

“The book says that mersouls tolerate humans in packs when they are emotionally connected to werewolves,” she explains.

“Like mates?” Isaac suggests.

Lydia nods.

“I think so. It would explain why they didn’t even look at me, and why they took Allison, as she is no longer involved with you,” she looks at Scott, who is suddenly sulking. “But I don’t understand why you are still here,” she turns back to Stiles.

“Well, Scott is like my brother. Maybe that’s enough.”

Derek coughs, catching their attention.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, making Lydia frown. “All we have to do is to find Allison.”

“That’s easy now that we know what we know, isn’t it? You said that their senses are quite limited, so maybe we could make them believe that they’ve mistaken Allison’s status in the pack,” Stiles intervenes. “I bet Scott still keeps some of Allison’s scent. We could pretend that they’re a couple.”

Almost immediately, every werewolf, including Jackson, seems agitated.

“I don’t know…” Scott says.

“It could work. You could claim her,” Derek agrees, despite his initial reaction.

“And would they buy it?” Lydia asks.

“Will you stop that, Isaac?” Jackson snaps, his eyes flashing. “He’ll be pretending.”

Isaac avoids his eyes, looking at his own hands instead.

Stiles suddenly understands what is going on: he’s missing some kind of werewolf enhanced perception thing.

“I don’t think I could be convincing enough,” Scott mumbles, his eyes fixed on Isaac.

“Would it be easier without Isaac there?”

Stiles can perfectly see how Isaac tenses, waiting for an answer to Derek’s question. This is so much better than all those Mexican soap operas he likes watching when his father is working.

Scott is now blushing.

“Yeah,” he admits in the end.

“Wonderful!” Stiles exclaims. “Does the book say anything about how to find them? Should we head back to the resort?”

“Why don’t you see if you can find anything here?” Lydia gets up and hands him the book, before turning to the Alpha. “Derek, a word?”

Derek looks at her, scowling, but she doesn’t bow her head. No one can make Lydia do it.

“Okay,” Derek consents, flatly.

Stiles watches them leave for the kitchen, just as Isaac starts walking towards the bathroom.

“Scott! What the hell are you doing, man?” he asks him as soon as the door closes behind Isaac. Scott is frozen in the middle of the room. “Go after him!”

“But…” he stutters. “What am I supposed to say? Oh, God, I’ve screwed it up…”

“How do you two manage to be so embarrassing all the time?” Jackson snaps. “Do you receive subsidies?”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“We’re not high schoolers anymore, Jackson. Stop being a bully.”

“I will when you stop being… you,” he replies with a smirk.

“Woah, what a comeback! I bet you got a full scholarship for your wit, didn’t you? Which university will you be attending? Northwestern University for Complete Jerks?”

Jackson bares his teeth, growling.

“You think you’re so smart… Let’s see what your brain can do against my claws.”

“I don’t have time to play with you, but I’ll throw you a ball later so you can fetch it in the woods, okay?” Stiles says, opening the book. “And you should talk to Isaac,” he adds without looking at Scott.

And just like that, he starts reading, because he won’t let Derek change his mind about how valuable he is to the pack.


	9. An Uncommon and Pleasant Phenomenon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay.”
> 
> “No, it’s not okay.”
> 
> Derek is now tense, all easiness gone.
> 
> “No, it’s not. You’re right.”

The house is quiet once Jackson leaves with Lydia, and Scott and Isaac go for a walk. Stiles reads for an hour, lying on the couch. He is so comfortable wearing oversized and warm clothes that for a moment the place feels like home. He wouldn’t mind doing this often. Without Allison being kidnapped, of course.

Even though he tries to focus on his task, he finds it quite difficult when his thoughts wander in different directions: why was Deaton asking about the betas’ behavior? Should he be worried about Erica’s bullying? What did Lydia want to say to Derek? Can a person cry underwater?

“Okay, Stiles, focus,” he says to himself. “Allison is counting on you.”

“How long have you been doing that?” Derek asks from the other room.

“Researching or talking to myself?”

“I know you haven’t been working, Stiles,” he comes walking down the corridor with an old notebook in his hands. “It’s easy to tell when your brain is beating around the bush.”

He sits on the same couch, giving Stiles the opportunity to stretch out and place his legs over Derek’s lap. Surprisingly, there’s no complain.

“And what were you doing meanwhile? Keeping your werewolf superpowers focused on me?” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, smirking.

“I was doing your job,” he throws the notebook in his direction, letting Stiles catch it midair. “That belonged to my father.”

Stiles opens it, careful. The years have turned the pages yellowish, but the ink remains black. The words are written in an elaborated calligraphy, filling every space of the notebook with sentences in different languages: Latin, English, French. There are also symbols decorating the margins that Stiles barely recognizes.

“Your father knew about mersouls?” Stiles finally asks. “I thought you said your family never visited the coast.”

“And we didn’t. But my father’s mother came from another pack, one that had been in touch with sea creatures, or at least that’s what my father wrote,” Derek explains. “He was… He was a scholar, an intellectual. While my mother was busy being the Alpha, he spent most of his time reading, trying to rediscover our history. Most of his notes were destroyed by the fire, but a few survived.”

“And for once we’ve been lucky, because this notebook talks about our maritime friends, doesn’t it?” Stiles sits up, leaving his legs where they are, because now Derek has placed one of his hands on them, and there is no universe in which Stiles would break contact with him.

“Page forty-three,” answers Derek.

Derek puts his left arm, the one that is not busy being warm and making Stiles feel all kind of things, over the back of the couch, centimeters away from Stiles’s shoulders.

“Let’s see… Let’s see…” Stiles mutters just to do something and not freak out.

The chapter on mersouls is five pages long and includes a wonderful and very detailed drawing of one of them.

“Read the last paragraph,” says Derek.

Stiles clear his throat before obeying.

“It was Amantia who found a solution. We camped where we saw them for the first time, Amantia kneeling before the lake, her hands over the water, caressing it. Her cry was sudden, miserable, loud enough to awake the mersouls. Her plea was heard when they emerged from the lake, Galio among them. His skin was turning grey, his hair now reached his shoulders. There was something odd in his eyes. Amantia exposed her case, and the creatures listened, and listened, and listened, until words became silence, and Galio was released,” he reads, and then turns his head to Derek, who is staring at him, their noses millimeters apart. Stiles gulps. “So… we do have to go back to the resort.”

He tries to think of something funny to add, anything that could make him feel like himself again, but nothing comes to his mind. Fucking Hale.

“And Scott needs to prepare a speech, something convincing,” Derek nods.

“Easy peasy, though I wish I could be the one doing it. Everybody knows how good I am at bullshitting my way out with words,” and then Derek smiles. Just like that. It is an honest and big smile, one with white and shiny teeth and no fangs. Small wrinkles circle his eyes. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…” he mutters, hiding his face behind his hands. “I’m so screwed…”

“Is this another panic attack?” Derek asks, concerned.

Stiles laughs, because honestly, what is he supposed to do?

“I wish it was, but no. This is a major crisis concerning other big issue that I really don’t want to discuss with you, sourwolf,” he responds.

“Okay.”

“No, it’s not okay.”

Derek is now tense, all easiness gone.

“No, it’s not. You’re right.”

Stiles drops his hands, allowing himself to look at Derek.

“Why do _you_ think it’s not right?”

Derek sighs.

“Remember how I told you that you are more valuable than Lydia? I may need to reconsider it, as she has proven herself to be more quick-witted.”

Stiles frowns, not knowing if he should feel offended.

“I’m lost here,” he admits.

“That’s the problem. You’re always so bright, and now, when I need you to be so, you decide to start being dumb,” Derek complains, almost angry.

“Woah, okay. Thanks, dude. I love you too.”

The last four words make him want to cry.

“Think, Stiles. Think about what Lydia said, about Erica, about whatever Deaton told you before, because I know that it is related to all this. Think,” Derek growls.

Stiles snorts, desperation taking over his body.

“I’ve thought about it, and believe me when I say that what I am thinking is absolutely impossible.”

Derek takes Stiles’s chin between his fingers and makes him look at him.

“Stiles,” as their eyes meet, Stiles loses it.

He presses his face against Derek’s. There’s barely any space left for their mouths to move, but somehow Stiles still manages to take Derek’s lower lip between his. The touch is soft, humid, breath-taking. It awakes every cell in Stiles’s body, sending a wave of pleasure through his nerves. Only Derek’s grab in his leg keeps him grounded, especially when it becomes tighter. Derek circles his waist with the other arm and pulls him closer. As their tongues find each other, a moan escapes Stiles’s mouth. He doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed, though, because Derek is already all over him, and they are now lying on the couch, their hands completely out of control.

“Holy shit! I could have lived without seeing this,” Scott complains.

Reluctantly, Stiles lets Derek go, but doesn’t get up. He lies there, looking at the ceiling, trying to give his lungs the air they have been deprived of.

“Are you ready to claim Allison?” Derek asks, hoarsely.

He’s standing up, as if nothing had happened, but his lips are red and wet. There’s something wild about the way he looks right now, even wilder than when he’s wolfed-out.

“Yeah. Do you know how I have to do it?”

“I think they’ve been busy discovering other things,” Isaac whispers.

Stiles turns to face him, glad to see a shy smile on his face. Isaac being happy is an uncommon and pleasant phenomenon to witness.

“I bet you have been doing the same. Am I right?”

Isaac immediately blushes, while Scott looks away, hiding a grin. They are just like kids.

“Every minute we lose gossiping, the mersouls are turning Allison into one of them,” says Derek, crossing his arms before his chest. “Lydia has gone to her place to retrieve some of Allison’s clothes, so you can get her scent on you. I’ll text her and tell her to meet us at the resort.”

“Wait. We have to do it at the resort?”

“No, we don’t,” Stiles replies. “You do.”

Scott rolls his eyes.

“I’d rather not have public, to be honest.”

“I’ll stay here with Boyd and Erica,” Isaac agrees.

Derek nods, satisfied.

“Lydia won’t stay behind, and if she’s coming…” he says.

“Jackson will too, I know,” Scott cuts him. “That’s fine.”

“You want me there, right?” Stiles intervenes, making grabby hands towards his friend.

Scott pushes them away, smiling.

“Only if you keep your dick in your pants.”

“Man, I can’t make any promises.”

He looks at Derek and winks. And then the werewolf is smiling again, and Stiles is glad he hasn’t promised anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH This is almost oooooveeeeeeerrrr. I cant believe it! Thank you so much for reading, guys!


	10. A Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is it?
> 
> Stiles gulps.
> 
> “I named them.”

Seeing Scott rubbing his face against Allison’s clothes is sad, and not only because he looks miserable, but also because it is like opening an old wound that had taken ages to heal. Sitting on the hood of his jeep, which he has insisted to bring to the resort, Stiles watches his friend go to the beach, shoeless, wrapped in Allison’s scarf. Jackson and Lydia are parked somewhere to the east, hidden from plain view, but keeping an eye on Scott in case something goes wrong.

“I still don’t get it,” he announces.

Derek is leaning against the car, his left arm pressed against Stiles’s right.

“What?”

“Why is Erica being such a pain in the ass?”

Derek places his left hand behind Stiles, pulling him closer.

“Betas are quite protective when it comes to their Alpha,” he explains, still looking at Scott. “It depends on their character, of course, but generally speaking, most of them become aggressive when someone is approaching their Alpha. Erica is the fiercest, that’s why she has been like that. Jackson is apathetic, and Boyd barely says anything, so their attitudes haven’t changed that much.”

“And Scott is my friend, he’s accepted me,” Stiles adds.

“Yeah. And I guess Isaac trusts him enough to accept you as well.”

“Oh, man, that’s what Deaton meant when he said that the relationship with Scott explained Isaac’s behavior,” Derek nods before turning to him. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it without pronouncing a single word. “What is it?”

A few seconds pass before Derek speaks. He keeps his eyes focused on the hem of his black t-shirt, with which his free hand has started to play. It is such an unusual thing for Derek to do, that Stiles gets a lump in his throat.

“I wasn’t planning on letting you know,” he admits, flatly.

“Letting me know… what, exactly?”

“How I feel about you,” replies Derek, still avoiding his gaze. “Everything I touch burns, sometimes literally, and I don’t want that happening to you. You’re so… full of energy and positivity… It feels as if I’m ruining you just by touching you.”

And incredulous laugh escapes Stiles’s mouth.

“This is why I like you,” he admits, his tone sincere. “Bad people have done terrible things to you, and you still don’t blame them, no. You blame yourself,” making use of all his bravery, Stiles puts his arm around Derek’s waist, resting his head against his shoulder. “You have a terrible taste, sourwolf. But let’s be honest, you barely knew them. You and I… we’ve known each other for years. You know I’m hyperactive and talkative and awesome, and I know you’re hot, quiet, and completely crazy about me. But, do you know what else? We care about the same people. We are pack. What’s the worst that can happen? Incredible sex?”

Derek’s chest vibrates when he laughs.

“You’re a dork.”

“Oh, my God. Derek Hale, did you just use the word “dork” to describe me?” he asks with pretended stupefaction.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And he does. Or at least he tries to, because after two seconds of chaste kissing, a huge wave breaks against the beach, and drops of sea water are suddenly falling over them. Derek pushes Stiles behind him, his claws already showing.

“Wait,” Stiles tells him, taking his hand. “It’s working, they’ve come.”

They have. The silhouettes are emerging from the water slowly, approaching a Scott who is patiently waiting for them at the seashore.

“Do you see her?” Stiles asks.

“Third one from the left,” he answers, pointing to the smallest figure of all.

Allison hasn’t changed at all. She is soaked, that’s true, but her hair is still short and brown, her skin pale and clear. She looks furious, though.

“Keep your fangs to yourself, buddy. We don’t want them to feel threatened.”

Derek growls, unconvinced.

“I don’t trust them.”

“Then trust your father and his notebook.”

That works. Derek’s hands return to his human form, and his fingers intertwine themselves with Stiles’s. Silently, the both of them watch as Scott talks. His words get lost in the distance that separate them, but that does not stop them from staring at him for an hour. By the time the mersouls start moving again, his body is stiff. Allison throws herself towards Scott, who catches her and wraps her in a warm embrace. As soon as the mersouls are gone, Stiles runs in their direction, Derek on his heels.

“Did they buy it?!” he asks.

Allison gets up, smiling faintly.

“I think they did,” she answers. “Thank you.”

Scott stands up, and nods. He looks embarrassed.

“All these things I said…”

“I know they’re not true,” she interrupts him.

“No, they are,” Scott admits. “I will always love you, Allison. You were my first love and nothing will change that. I may… be with someone else now, but you’re my friend. Always.”

She takes his hand, trying hard not to shed a tear in front of half of the pack.

“Thank you.”

Derek takes off his jacket and offers it to Allison, who accepts it instantly. She’s starting to shiver.

“We better go home,” Stiles coughs, unable to stay here any second longer. “I don’t want them to change their mind and come back.”

“Is it safe for you to be here? If Scott had to pretend that we were together, doesn’t that mean that they’ll go after any human without a mate in the pack?” Allison asks, innocently.

Stiles answers her with a smirk, ignoring the fact that Derek has started walking away, not willing to stay and be embarrassed by whatever Stiles is going to say.

“Wanna ride with us? There’re so many things I have to tell you… And Derek will love to have you there.”

Scott laughs when Derek answers with a growl, his back to them.

“Sure,” she agrees.

 

 

* * *

 

_Five months later._

 

“I have something really important to tell you.”

It’s five in the morning of a Christmas day. Stiles is lying on Derek’s bed, looking at the ceiling. Outside it’s raining, and the wind is making the entire house tremble, but he feels safe, wrapped in an eiderdown with Derek by his side, a warm arm over his chest.

“You’ve been talking non-stop for years and yet you’re not done babbling,” Derek sighs.

“I should have told you like months ago, but you know. I’ve been busy with college, and you’ve got all those renovation works around the house, and then there was a new season of _Keeping Up with the Kardashians_ , which was absolutely insane. Can you believe the three of them are now pregnant? I called Scott the moment the episode aired and…”

“Stiles,” he interrupts him, not in a friendly tone.

“Okay, yeah. My point is that I don’t want you to get mad,” Stiles admits.

Derek turns over and stares at him with sleepy eyes. He looks vulnerable.

“What is it?

Stiles gulps.

“I named them.”

Derek’s frown is not a surprise, of course.

“I’m not following you.”

“I think I did it right after I met you for the first time, because I had a death wish and needed something to make you seem less threatening, so I came up with the most ridiculous name, Chip and Chop. Remember that movie? I was obsessed with it. Maybe I still am, I don’t know. I’ve only watched a couple of times since we started dating,” he says in a rush. “Anyway, in the end it was an easy way of assessing your mood. Chip is good news, Chop is ‘you better run for your life, Stilinski’.”

A hand forces him to turn his head and look at Derek in the eye. Chip and Chop are neutral, probably because Derek is lacking a proper good night’s sleep.

“You’re talking about my eyebrows,” he states, rubbing a thumb against his cheek. “And you woke me up at five just to let me know.”

“ _IalsowantedtotellyouthatIloveyou_.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Stiles is up and ready to disappear, disentangling his legs from the bedspread and failing miserably. He ends up on the floor, cursing.

“What did you say?” Derek asks, tensely.

“Nothing, man. You’re right, I shouldn’t have waked you up. Go back to sleep, I’ll go home and let myself die in embarrassment.”

Derek takes him by the shoulder before he manages to free himself from the trap he’s fallen into.

“You already are at home, fucktard. Come to bed.”

 Slowly, Stiles stands up and sits on the corner of the mattress, forcing Derek to drag him towards him, and against his chest. Spooning feels terribly awkward now.

“I told you ‘I love you’ the night before you left for college, but I guess you were already asleep,” Derek whispers, his mouth over Stiles’s ear. “I thought you hadn’t say anything because you didn’t feel that way. I was just waiting for you to be ready. So don’t freak out now, okay?”

“What the hell, dude?! You though I was just ignoring your feelings?!” he jumps, though Derek keeps him where he is, pressing his nose against the back of his neck.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I love you too.”

Stiles wants to be mad. He really wants to. But he can’t. Not when Derek Hale is kissing his neck on Christmas day.

"They are called Chip 'n' Dale, by the way," he whispers after a while.

"What? Oh, yeah, I know, but my dad bought this Spanish DVD from a garage sale and they were called Chip and Chop in that version," Stiles explains. "I like it better. Dale sounds lame."

Derek laughs, rubbing his nose against Stiles's neck. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's over.  
> I can't believe I've finished my first fic in English. I never thought I would do it! Thank you so much for reading and contacting me through Twitter and a few commentaries! It's been a pleasure writing for this fandom.  
> Love you to the moon and back,  
> Arwen


End file.
